


Strike 1

by thecat_13145



Category: Numb3rs
Genre: F/M, Hints of abuse, M/M, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-10 20:02:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3301757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecat_13145/pseuds/thecat_13145
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sound of the shower woke her</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Swing and Misses

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Foul Ball](https://archiveofourown.org/works/507982) by [thecat_13145](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecat_13145/pseuds/thecat_13145). 



The sound of the shower woke her.

Groaning slightly, Kim Newman stretched across, her eyes still closed, to her fiancé Don Eppes side of the bed.

The sheets were warm, but the bed was empty.

She turned over, curling herself up into a ball, determined to fall back asleep, to ignore the shower.

The first time this had happened, she had tried to help him. To distract him from whatever demons drove him there at 2 am. Joking about joining him.

She had never forgotten the look on his face when he had first seen her. That horror and humiliation.

He’d covered it quickly, inviting her in. they had had sex in the shower, but it had being…cold, almost mechanical. And rough, but not in a good way. In a way that suggested hurriedness, getting something unpleasant over with as quickly as possible.

Don had never referred to it and she lacked the courage to bring it up. Instead, like the families she and every FBI agent she knew despised, she turned over and tried to sleep, ignoring the signs. 

Usually she rolled towards the empty space, telling herself that when Don returned to the bed, his skin red and raw, she would confront him. Persuade him to tell her what she already suspected. She’d stare at the photo of the family that Don kept on his dresser, and try to figure out what dark secrets lay behind the smiles. Her eyes would rest first on Margaret, then on Alan Eppes, wondering if… but somehow she doubted it. 

What it was, she couldn’t say. Just something in Alan’s Eppes’s eyes maybe? He wasn’t the type who’d hurt his son. He was the one who would be horrified that a family friend, a man he trusted, had done that to his son.

Because someone had done it. Rape, sexual abuse, it didn’t matter what name you put on it. Someone had hurt Don in the worst way she could imagine. Was still hurting him, torturing him with memories. 

Usually she tried to gather her courage to confront Don. To try and breakthrough the ice verge that had first attracted to Don, but tonight she gazed into the darkness.

The worst thing was that there was no one who she could talk to about it. Working the hours she did to be treated half as seriously as Don and every other male agent didn’t leave much time for a social life and in the FBI…her mind flitted over her team.

There was Myriam, but she had being married to Amed since she was 18, a marriage arranged by their parents. If she had ever being tempted to leave him, she hid it like her hair behind the hijab, and Amed so evidently worshipped the ground that his wife walked on, that the idea of him wishing to leave the marriage was frankly laughable. And if she tried to talk to Amed about the situation, the poor man would probably die of embarrassment. 

There was Anya, but Anya was only a kid on her first posting and had a huge case of hero worship where Don was concerned.  
The idea that her idol had feet of clay would not go down well. 

There was Leon, who would at least listen without judgement if she told him about their problems, but that was it. Leon would listen, but he wouldn’t do anything or advise her to do anything. Myriam had joked more than once that the only way their partnership achieved anything was her rushing in and Leon following her. 

Leon had worked in sex crimes before he came here, he would know, might be able to suggest someone she could talk to, someone who could help Don, but…

She sighed. The trouble was telling any of them would mean admitting that this was happening, that it was real. And if she admitted it was real, she might have to deal with it.

She shifted again, rustling the sheets. She liked Don. She probably loved him, but she was no longer sure if she was in love with him.

Don was a great guy, a fantastic FBI agent, a considerate boyfriend and lover, but…she stared up at the ceiling.

But that was the problem. There was a sensation that what she was seeing was an act, that there was this huge part of Don that was shut off from her. Not just from her, she knew that, but it felt worse because he was her fiancé. They weren’t supposed to have secrets. 

She remembered witnesses who she’d interviewed talking about it being almost a relief when they discovered that their spouse was having an affair, living a double life.

“I knew that there was something going on, I just didn’t know what” they’d say and she’d nodded, wondering why they didn’t confront their spouse.

Now she knew the reason. You were afraid to look at the situation in the face. 

Leah’s face floated unbidden to her. You could blame that case, both their desperation, their determination to get a conviction at any cost for what happened. She certainly knew that Myriam was horrified by what had happened and Leon still struggled to completely meet her eyes when it came up, but it wasn’t the whole reason.

Leah had just being a torch shone on the wall, highlighting the cracks that were already there. She didn’t blame her, didn’t blame Don, didn’t even blame herself. She just had no idea how to fix it.

And in the darkness, she admitted that maybe she was no longer sure she wanted to fix it. Marriage, relationships were a partnership. You had to be equal, to give and take otherwise it wouldn’t work. 

She was doing the taking, Don was doing the giving. It couldn’t, it shouldn’t work like that. 

She had to talk to him.

Distantly, she heard the shower turning off and surprised herself by sitting bolt upright as Don came in.

He paused in the doorway of the Ensuite, his hair still wet from the shower, showing the curls that were more obvious on his younger brother, at least in the photo.

He frowned, nervously. She smiled internally.

Don could read people incredibly easily, it was one of the things that made him such a good agent, but even the most insensitive frat boy would know that there was something up.

She could stop this. She could lie back down and they could never refer to it again. But at the same time, she knew she couldn’t.

“Don…” She began, as her cell phone began to dance on the nightstand.


	2. Does not swing at a pitch in the strike zone

James Logan turned off the hot water, and stood for a moment staring in the mirror.

In the space cleaned by his towel in the steam soaked mirror, a man stared back at him. A young man, but with a much older man’s eyes.

When did his eyes get so old? He was sure they weren’t that old after Fox. Who was it who did this then? Sanddell? Urwin? Or even that old fat bastard Stern, who currently lay asleep in the next room?

He thought of the whores he’d seen on the road, the ones he’d brought in with their dead eyes. He thought of the way Edgerton had stared at him after the school shooting, or perhaps more accurately stared through him. Like he didn’t exist.

He dressed quickly, all clean clothes, his mother’s advice that he never knew who was going to see his underwear running through his head.

He snorted.

He might not know who exactly would see his underwear, but he can take a fair guess. The Medical Examiner, Albuquerque PD, FBI, maybe even IA, if they’re quick enough.

A part of him was yelling that he’s being a coward, that he should leave, march right out that door, past the bastard sleeping off the booze and what they did earlier, the thought of which makes his stomach curl even through it’s happened so frequently he should be used to it, and just drive to Internal Affairs and tell them everything that’s happened since he was assigned to Fox.

But he can’t. Not because he doesn’t want to, but because he can’t.

Sighing, he looked around the bathroom and turned the light off.

Pausing beside the bed, he took off his ID and his badge and laid them next to Stern’s, next to the letter, in clear view of anyone entering the room.

He doesn’t want any mistakes to be made, anyone to be blamed for this.

Except those who deserve it.

He checks his gun again, relishing the soft strong weight in his hand, and lies down on the bed next to Stern.

*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*

“Glad to see I wasn’t the only one who had my evening interrupted.” 

Getting out of the car, Leon Came shot his partner a warning glance. “First time we’ve being out of the office before 9 for a month. Sorry to disappoint you, Myriam, but all your call interrupted was Chinese takeout on my sofa. Alone.”

Myriam Ad Binn raised one threaded eye brow before replying, “You’re wearing pink Piglet socks.”

Cursing, Leon began pulling desperately at his trousers to try and hide the offending evidence, as another SUV pulled up.

“Hey, what we got?” Don Eppes climbed out, with Kim Hall, Myriam and Leon’s team leader not far behind him. Neither of the agents raised an eyebrow, Don and Kim’s relationship was common knowledge in the office, though privately both were surprised to see their boss here.

Myriam stepped in. “Two guys check into a motel room at 7:20 this evening. They showed their badges to the guys on front desk. At 10:30, the night clerk hears a gun shot. He calls the cops, who called Amed when they found the bodies.”

“Bodies?” Don asked, frowning. Myriam nodded. 

“Two.” She continued. “We’re just waiting for SOC to finish, but it looks like I might have being premature in disturbing everyone’s evenings.

“Oh yeah? How so?”

Myriam shrugged. “No evidence of forced entry, before police broke down the door, no sign of a struggle and it looks like there might be a note.”

“Two agents decide to commit suicide at the same time?” Don didn’t sound convinced, and Leon’s expression said that he shared his superior’s opinion. Myriam shrugged.

“Just passing on what the Captain told me. Which reminds me; he said he wanted a word when the lead agent turned up.” She glanced at Don. “Guess that would be you.”

Don shrugged. “Who is it?” 

Myriam shifted, avoiding Don’s eyes. “Fahy.”

She heard Kim’s groan and saw Don’s face twitch. They were lucky in Albuquerque. Mostly thanks to Don, they had good relationships with most of the Police captains. Simon Fahy, however, was still smarting over the FBI pulling him off a case.

Gritting his teeth, Don left the gaggle of agents waiting by the door and made his way over to where he could see Fahy’s standing. 

The Captain’s hair was peppered Silver, and before the incident, Don would have said he counted the man among his friends. That had all changed when an officer on his watch had become the tenth victim of Creed, a former CIA assassin who had being carrying out a mission that should have ended nearly a decade ago. Fahy had being blunt. He could forgive Don pulling him off the case, what he couldn’t forgive was the other man shutting him out of the investigation. Even if that had being the CIA’s decision, as they tried to clean up their mess, Fahy blamed Don.

“Eppes.” Fahy was a smoker and some days it felt like you could hear every cigarette he’d ever touched in his voice. “Didn’t except to see you here.” He glanced towards the Agents. “Suppose she called you?”

“Myriam called Kim, yeah.” Don said slowly. He wouldn’t let himself get into a fight with this man, not here.

“Don’t know why she bothered.” Fahy’s eyes never left the used car lot sign opposite the motel. “It’s a pretty open and shut case.”

“Toughest ones to solve.” Don joked, quoting Fahy’s words back at him, from the first time they’d met. The other man didn’t laugh. “Look, we take care of our own, you know that. If it was you, you know I’d hand jurisdiction over if I could.”

“But you didn’t.”

Don sighed. “That wasn’t my decision”

Fahy’s mouth was opened to say something more, but a polite cough interrupted them. Turning, they both could see Amed Ad Binn standing there, his medical examiner’s badge catching the light. The Arabic man looked between them.

“Forgive the interruption” he said calmly, “But I felt I must let both of you know that we are about to remove the bodies.”

“Right,” Fahy muttered, “You got anything for us?”

Amed shrugged. “Preliminary cause of death for both victims was a gunshot wound to the head at close quarters. Agent Logan’s was a through and through, but I may be able to retrieve something from agent Stern. They’ve being dead roughly an hour and that’s all I’m prepared to say before the autopsy.” He glanced between them. “Now who do I send my findings to? I assume it’s a midnight job as it’s one of our own.”

“Sure.” Fahy glanced at Don. “You saying you guys take care of your own? Guess you got a chance to prove it. Cause you sure as hell don’t take care of ours.”

“Simon...” Don began, but the other man was already walking away, calling his men to him. Don sighed, shaking his head.

Amed reached out uncertainly, patting the other man’s shoulder. “You made the right call Don.” He paused, glancing over to where his wife stood talking with the CISs. “I assume Myriam will be my contact on this.”

Don nodded “Yeah.” He paused and added. “Sorry for disturbing your....” 

Amed smiled. “I knew the risks when Myriam told me what she intended to use her degree for. And I’ve done it to her in the past.” He shrugged. “Just the ways these things work.” He glanced at Don, but could see the other’s man’s thoughts were elsewhere.

Sighing, Amed headed over to the where the two body bags were being loaded into the ambulance.

/*//*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*

“Found the badges and Ids here.” Myriam pointed, as Leon tried to avoid getting in the CSI way. “Neatly and with the Ids stood up and facing the door.” She glanced up as Don entered, but continued. “No signs of forced entry, the officers on the scene had to break the door down and there’s no window in the bathroom or anywhere else. Agent Stern’s gun was still in its holster, by the side of the bed, agent Logan’s gun was found under the bed.” She held up the bagged weapon. “It’s being fired recently, that’s all anyone’s prepared to give me until they get it back to the lab. One bullet missing, calibre looks like it could be a match to the injuries.” 

Leon snorted “Guess someone had read the memo on conserving ammunition.” Myriam smiled tensely and Kim glanced over to where Don was reading the note “CSI had a look at the note?”

Myriam nodded. “One set prints. Won’t know who they are until we’re back at the lab, written in a black biro. Signature at the bottom looks like a match to where Logan signed the register, so...” She shrugged, reluctant to voice what they were all thinking. 

Double suicide or suicide murder. It didn’t really matter. No real case for them here, just processing until IA took it off them and tried to figure out why this had happened. If the accusations made in the note were true.

A voice called from the bathroom.

“Found something,” They stepped across the room, squeezing into the miscue bathroom where a tech was shining a UV light over the bath. “Got fresh blood. And something else.” He paused, “Looks like Serum.”

“Get a sample to DNA.” Kim said firmly. “Might have nothing to do with this, but,” The CSI nodded, but Myriam was looking at her strangely.

“They’re going to be here all night processing.” She said, softly, “Why don’t you and Don head back? Leon and I can supervise.”

The thought of returning to that apartment and everything that’s not being said between them filled her throat and she didn’t even bother shaking her head.

“Head down to the coroner’s office. I want the report as soon as it’s ready.”

Myriam raised an eyebrow, the thin line almost vanishing under her hijab. “As you wish.”

**************

“That the autopsy report?” Leon asked, entering the war room. Myriam looked up over her coffee mug.

“Yeah.” She glanced his own folder. “What you got there?”

Leon smiled. “Ballistics. The bullet your husband retrieved definitely came from Agent Logan’s gun.” He glanced at the white board, where a copy of a lined piece of paper held centre stage next to the two agent’s photos. Myriam had also written up copies of their histories beneath it, her neat joined up writing instantly recognisable. “That the note?”

Myriam nodded. “Yeah, Handwriting and prints want another couple of hours with it, but they both say that it looks like it was Agent Logan who wrote it and handled it.” She watched Leon’s face as he read through it. “It’s slightly rambling in places, but he makes some pretty serious accusations. Rape and sexual abuse by senior agents against junior ones.”

Leon nodded grimly. “Any evidence?”

Myriam shrugged. “Both agents had had sex a few hours before death, and Agent Logan did have injuries.”

“Consistent with rape?”

Myriam nodded, “Or with a particularly rough bout of sex. Amed refused to say more definitely, having seen both on his table.”

“Cause of death?”

“Gunshot to the head.”

“For both of them?”

“From the same bullet.” There was silence for a moment, before Myriam added. “GSR was only positive on Agent Logan.”

They were silent for a moment, both of them thinking of what much have driven the agent to that point. To lie down beside the man who had abused him and put the gun to his head and pull the trigger. 

They’d both seen it before but this was different. This was one of their own. Leon sent her a glance. “What else?”

“What do you mean?” Myriam had turned her back to him, tidying up the papers on her desk, but Leon had being her partner too long not to know there was something else. 

“The thing you’re not putting on the board, the evidence that you’re concealing.”

Myriam paused. “It’s not evidence.” She said slowly, the faintest traces of an Arabic accent coming back into her voice. “It’s more a feeling.”

“Go on.”

Myriam walked over and closed the door. “There was a pile up on the road last night. Four bodies, so everyone was needed in autopsy. I used their computers while I waited, tracked down the names mentioned.” She pointed to one about half way down the list, Peter Fox. Leon shrugged.

“Rings a bell. Tactical instructor at Quantico, I think.”

“Before that,” Myriam said, choosing her words carefully. “He was Don’s first partner.”

A sick feeling came into Leon’s stomach. “You think…You can’t think.”

The door opened.

/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*

Kim could feel the sense of a conversation that had stopped as soon as she entered. In the weeks since the incident with Leah, it had become increasingly normal, even with her own team.

Everyone knew the official story, even if the files were sealed and her team, Don’s team she supposed she should really call them as they were taking his side, suspected the truth.  
It didn’t matter now.

“Right.” She said, hoping her voice sounded normal. She’d cried for hours last night, but she knew it had being the right thing. “What have we got?”

“Where’s Agent Eppes?” Myriam asked calmly. “This will need Internal Affairs to be called. That is the Agent in Charge’s Duty.”

The words and their tone were completely reasonable, but they cut her like a knife.

“Don’s not here.” She added swiftly. “I might as well tell you, though I’d appreciate it not being spread around the office. Don’s mother has breast cancer. Terminal.” She looked from one to the other. “He’s gone back to LA and is going to be looking to transfer in the next couple of days.”

She watched as the two agents exchanged a look, Leon’s WASP blue eyes meeting Myriam’s dark almond shaped ones.

“And you?” Leon asked uncertainly. Kim forced a smile.

“We’re in the middle of case. Now, Myriam, what does your husband say killed them?”

The two agents exchanged another look, before Myriam began slowly reciting the information. She blinked back the tears. Hopefully things would get better over the next couple of days. If not, she was going to go back to the CIA. Their offer was a good one.

Clinging to that satisfactory thought, she forced her attention back to Myriam’s voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I've being working on this so long, I even know the full background of my OCs. In brief summary of agents mentions
> 
> Special Agent Myriam Ad Binn: Arab American, her family are actually originally from Iran, but left before Myriam was born. Her mother was a social worker and her father was doctor. She is a Muslim, though prior to 9/11 you'd only have known that if she told you. Couple of days after 9/11, she suddenly appeared in the office wearing a hijab, which understandably caused some controversy (her husband remains unhappy about her decision). Myriam argued that she was making the point that the war was against terrorists, not against Islam. She remains incredibly fond of Don as he did not comment on it.
> 
> Amed Ad Binn is Myriam's husband and a pathologist and medical examiner with the police department. His and Myriam's marriage was arranged at 18 by their parents, but both have being extremely happy with it. He disapproves of Myriam's decision to wear the hijab as he believes it leaves her far more vulnerable in the field.
> 
> Leon Came is Myriam's partner in the field. Prior to transferring to Albuquerque, Leon worked on a sex crime task force. He is very laid back and is the person most people come to with their problems. He is dating a social worker, but is trying to keep it quiet as her brother is head of SWAT Team and not likely to look kindly on any agent dating his sister.
> 
> Anya Demidov is the child of Russian immigrants. Her father was a KGB agent and the family left Russia because he fell into disfavour. Having grown up in the shadow (quite literally) of the KGB, Anya claims to be sceptical of the FBI's and America's claims of freedom. She is the youngest member of the team, with Albuquerque being her first posting after leaving the academy and has a big case of hero worship towards Don.

**Author's Note:**

> This is finally done. It grew from a throw away remark in Foul Ball and then expanded. It's taken me three years to write. Proof I guess that you should never give up hope with my writing.


End file.
